Six Times Starbuck and Apollo Frakked
by Sarah LoTuS
Summary: Starbuck and Apollo are the best pilots in the fleet. In the air, they have perfect synchronicity; on the ground, not so much.
1. Ships Passing in the Night

**Six Times Starbuck and Apollo Frakked**

**or**

**Five Times Starbuck and Apollo Couldn't Get the Timing Right **

**(And Once When Time Was All They Had)**

**

* * *

**

**Ships Passing in the Night**

*

_The first time, she doesn't even know his name._

_She calls him Apollo because she remembers just that much; remembers flying with him in a much more literal sense. He fraks much better than he flies, and that's saying something._

_She collapses against him, head spinning with ambrosia and lust._

_Oh gods, did she actually _purr_ at him?_

_*_

They aren't in the same class (he's a year ahead, in fact) but they both enjoy a certain notoriety for their exploits in the sims, enough so she knows his face and his callsign, but not enough so that they've actually spoken beyond the usual comm chatter.

She thinks that might be a pity, so when she spots him sitting alone at the bar of her favourite nightspot, she peels away from her classmates and takes the stool next to him.

"Apollo, right?"

He drains his glass and raises an eyebrow at her. (She wonders if that was the moment she'd decided to go home with him, or whether it had always been inevitable?) "Right," he agrees. "And you're Starbuck."

It takes several more rounds before they _really_ start talking. He's been drowning his sorrows over some woman who has broken off with him. She makes her interest plain, but he knocks her back. Not looking for a rebound frak, he says. He doesn't get up to leave, though, and she thinks what he means is _convince me_.

She smiles to herself and buys him another drink.

*

_He fumbles with his keys and she almost fraks him in the corridor, but eventually he fits the right key into the lock and they stagger inside. She's on him as soon as the door swings shut, lips fitted together and tongues invading mouths with single minded determination. She gets her hand inside his pants and feels him sigh contentedly as she sinks slowly to her knees._

_She takes him deep in her throat and hears the thunk of his head against the door._

*

She pulls out a stogie and bites off the tip, lighting it and taking a few puffs; blows a smoke ring at him and slides it back between her lips with just a _hint_ of visible tongue. That's always worked before, and she's almost disappointed that it seems to be working now. She smirks at him and takes another pull, and when she leans forward to kiss him, breathes the smoke into his lungs.

Somehow she thought he'd be harder to pull.

*

_He drags her upright again before he finishes and takes the offensive, stripping the clothes from her and tossing them every which way as he pushes her towards his bedroom. His breath tickles her ears, maddeningly calm voice describing in excruciating detail exactly what he plans to do to her when he gets her there._

_He hadn't seemed the type to have such a filthy mouth, and she shivers in spite of herself._

_He does everything he promises and more. _

_She doesn't quite catch what name he utters when he comes. It's not hers, but she doesn't mind very much._

_*_

She awakes to the _not at all_ unpleasant sensation of his hands sliding across her skin, his lips tickling her throat and his body pressed against her back.

Kara Thrace doesn't do morning after sex. At least, she never has before. She's turned on in spite of herself however, and so she turns and takes him inside her again, slow and lazy. It's actually quite pleasant.

Afterwards when she's searching for her clothes, he's attempting to make small talk. It's patently obvious that one night stands aren't his usual MO; he's nervous and not sure what she expects.

She rolls her eyes at him. "Relax, Apollo. It was fun. Spectacular, even." (He looks gratified. He might as well, she isn't exaggerating.) "But it wasn't..." She takes a breath and decides not to finish the thought. "I'll maybe see you in the sims sometime?"

He nods, relieved.

*

_She doesn't find out his name is Lee Adama until two years later, when Zak introduces his fiancé to the older brother he adores. They shake hands as if they're meeting for the first time, and she thinks it's kind of funny, really. _

_*_


	2. Lost in You, Lost in Me

**Six Times Starbuck and Apollo Frakked**

**or**

**Five Times Starbuck and Apollo Couldn't Get the Timing Right **

**(And Once When Time Was All They Had)**

****

* * *

**Lost in You, Lost in Me**

Zak's dead.

It's her fault, and she knows that this guilt she feels is right and proper and deserved.

She discovers at the wake just how much Lee has against his father. He's angry, and broken, and his words should be aimed at her. They should be. She breaks down sobbing and he leads her out and away and drives her home. He thinks his anger upset her and he's right—but in the wrong way. She can't tell him the truth, and so he keeps apologising, and she can't explain why that just makes her cry harder, and that makes him apologise again until he's crying himself. She should be begging his forgiveness but she can't so instead she tilts her head up and kisses him.

He tastes of salt and guilt and sorrow. For a moment he kisses her back, but then he pulls away, shaking his head. "No, Kara. You'll hate yourself if we do this." If only he'd said _we can't do this to Zak_ she would have let it go, but she can't imagine hating herself any more than she already does.

She blinks the tears away a little until she can see him clearly. "Don't you want to feel something else, just for a while?" she asks. And she knows she's taking Lee with her on this spiral of self-destruction, but she can't stop herself.

He rubs rough thumbs across her cheeks, staring at her. And then he's kissing her eyelids _oh so gently. _But it's _not supposed_ to be gentle and tender and comforting. It's supposed to be judgement and condemnation. It's supposed to _hurt_.

It does hurt. Delicious agony, and it's still _wrong._

She leads him to the bed and he doesn't resist as she pulls him down with her, feet shoving his trousers down past his hips, knees, ankles and off. Her hands attack the buttons of his dress greys and he tugs her trousers down, kissing his way back up her thighs and stomach until he's diving into her mouth again, mindless. She knows he's trying not to think either, but somehow he still manages to take his time. He doesn't ask her again if she's sure this is what she wants, but when he hitches her leg up against his hip and slides in, it's achingly slow and tender.

But she doesn't want tenderness, she doesn't want... gods, she doesn't know what she wants.

Two nights ago she was frakking Zak in this bed and lying to save his feelings.

She wants to go back and change it. She'd do it, she'd break his spirit, make him hate her and himself if only he'd live again.

Too late.

Maybe Zak's brother is close enough. Maybe he can absolve her. Except they're nothing alike, not really. Zak had a sort of simple joy about him. He was carefree, and considerate, and fun-loving. Lee burns with intensity, concentration, devotion. Everything he does is deliberate and premeditated. Zak was freedom, Lee is restraint.

She lies to herself; the mouth pressed against her collarbone is Zak's, and not Lee's. Those are Zak's hands tangled in her hair, and not Lee's fingertips pressing into her skin. This is Zak's body fitted to hers, familiar as breathing; and not Lee, not Lee…

"Zak," she whimpers, and Lee's sad eyes catch hers and hold. He too knows how wrong this is. He can't save himself anymore than she can.

They break apart together, shuddering in a mix of ecstasy and sobs, and in the morning when she wakes he's already gone.


End file.
